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  Slash laughed. “Marco just quoted an old Italian proverb. ‘A perfect woman is the most noble thing in the world.’”

  “Oh, that’s nice, but I’m far from perfect.”

  Marco grinned as Slash put a hand on my lower back, guiding me into the house as Marco moved back to let us enter. We hadn’t gone three steps when something huge and black shot out from behind Marco. Before I could even scream, it hit me square in the chest.

  Chapter Ten

  I was being crushed to death. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak.

  Something wet was on my chin.

  “Guido! Down boy,” Marco shouted. He grabbed the beast off my chest. “Sit.”

  I staggered to a more upright position, examining my attacker. It was a dog. No, it was a big dog. I swiped a hand across my chin wiping off the dog slobber. Slash put a hand under my elbow to steady me.

  Animals and I don’t get along. At all. To me pets are a lot like people—invasive and unpredictable. I’m pretty sure animals sense my indecision and, as a result, try to dominate me.

  There was an incident with my neighbor’s pet garter snake in my shoe when I’d been in the third grade, and a hermit crab that had escaped his shell and found his way into my bed when I was eleven. In high school my brother’s girlfriend’s dog stalked me relentlessly and tried to hump my leg every time she’d bring him over. I’d also had a disastrous experience with Slash’s grandmother’s cat, Principessa, when I’d been in Italy. Then there was this fox in Djibouti I’d almost killed by accident after it pooped under my chair and followed me into my bedroom. Those were just a few excellent examples of why animals and I should never interact.

  Right now Guido dutifully sat, but looked at me with wide, mischievous brown eyes, his ears perked and tail thumping. The dog was huge even in proportion to his master.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Carmichael,” Marco said. “Guido usually has better manners.”

  “What kind of dog is it?” Slash asked, reaching over and scratching the dog under the chin. The dog’s fur was black and it had a big head with a flat forehead and almond-shaped eyes. Guido wagged his tail happily and licked Slash’s hands. Slash made the interaction look so easy, I felt envious. Although, let me make it clear, it wasn’t like I was going to be touching the dog anytime soon. Or ever.

  “Guido is an Italian mastiff,” Marco said, patting him on the head. “He’s just a puppy. They can get as big as one-hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

  Holy canine! That was a puppy? It was already as large as a small pony. I edged slightly behind Slash.

  Just then a woman with long black hair pulled back into a thick braid stepped into the foyer. She looked at Slash and clapped her hands to her chest. “Oh, mio! The boy is a man.”

  Slash smiled and strode across the room to hug her, kissing her cheeks and then her hand. Putting one arm around him, she beamed and looked over at me.

  “You’ve brought us a girl. Who is this?”

  “Marcella, meet Lexi Carmichael. We’re looking for furniture to fill our new house.”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” She pulled me into a hug and air-kissed my cheeks three times. “A girl. A new house. Your mother sent you to the right place. Come on into the kitchen. I will fix you some food right away.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary...” I started when Marco swept a huge arm around me. “We are Italian. We don’t do anything until we eat. Come, please, be our guest. It would be our honor.”

  Marcella still had an arm around Slash, so bundled like this we waded through a large room where all the furniture was arranged and into a cheerful kitchen located at the back of the house. I carefully watched where my feet were in relation to Marco’s because I was pretty sure that one misstep of his giant foot and I’d have a broken toe or worse.

  The kitchen was large, bright and cheerful. To my surprise, there were things cooking on all burners of the stove. The scents were heavenly. It made me wonder if Italians always had something cooking night and day. One thing I’d learned about Italians during my trip to Rome is they know their food. I typically abhor stereotypes, but in my experience, this one seemed to be consistently true. I’d never eaten better food than when I’d been in Italy. Slash’s grandmother, Nonna, cooked meals so delicious I was convinced it was magic, despite the scientific implausibility of such a conviction.

  Marco cleared the table and insisted we sit down. I’d barely planted my behind in a chair when Marcella placed huge glasses of red wine in front of me and Slash.

  “It’s Gaja Barbaresco wine,” she said to Slash as if it would mean something to him. Apparently it did, because his eyes lit up. He swished it around in the glass before taking a sip. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Eccellente.”

  He opened his eyes and saw me looking at him curiously. “It’s a popular wine in Italy made from a first-rate winery in Gaja,” he explained. “It’s a rich and full-bodied flavor. I think you’ll like it.”

  Everyone was waiting for me to try it, so I picked up my glass and cautiously took a sip. The wine exploded on my tongue in a taste burst with a slight tartness similar to that of cherries. It was unique and absolutely fantastic. Not too sweet and not too dry. Exactly how I liked my wine.

  “Wow, that’s really good,” I said, taking another sip. “It’s unlike any wine I’ve ever had before.”

  Marcella beamed and filled goblets for herself and Marco. Shortly thereafter, we were required to lift our wine in a toast.

  “To old friends and new ones,” Marco said in a booming voice.

  As we sipped our wine, Marco told stories of when they had lived in London near Slash’s adopted parents. I already knew that Slash’s mother, Juliette, was a nurse, but I discovered his father, James, was a physical therapist.

  Marcella put a tray of cheese and an assortment of olives on the table. I popped a couple of the olives in my mouth and found them soft and delicious. The food quickly disappeared, so Marcella put out another plate of food while Marco filled our wine goblets again.

  Slash smiled as Marcella purposefully set the plate closest to him. “Ah, the antipasti. Grazie, Marcella.”

  I peered at the food, trying to figure out what it was when Slash leaned toward me. “It’s salami, prosciutto, cheese and homemade, hand-crusted bread.”

  My mouth watered just looking at it all. It didn’t us long to devour it but more food kept appearing on the table. Slash informed me that the rice dish in front of me now was chicken risotto and the steaming stew to my left was umbria, a lentil stew with sausage.

  After we ate all of that, that Marcella brought out a plate of freshly cut tomatoes and mozzarella cheese drizzled with olive oil, followed by a huge bowl of seasonal fruit and another platter of assorted cheeses. By the time she brought out the dessert, a panna cotta with glazed raspberries, accompanied by cups of steaming espresso, I was beyond stuffed. How Italians could eat like this and not weigh a thousand pounds was well worthy of serious scientific study.

  I glanced at my watch and realized we’d been eating and drinking for nearly three hours. Somehow, I’d actually enjoyed myself. What could I say? Italians clearly made the best food in the world and the conversation was interesting and lively. Plus, no one noticed I wasn’t talking, since everyone else spoke at the same time and waved their arms around with great animation in support of whatever was being said.

  Still, when it was all said and done, I felt like I’d eaten a fifteen-pound basketball. I was also pretty tipsy. My cheeks and ears felt hot, which always happened to me when I drank alcohol, which was rarely. I staggered to my feet, feeling my jeans pull tight across my stomach. I hoped I wouldn’t pop the button on them.

  I politely inquired about the bathroom and Marcella told me where it was located. As I wound my way through the furniture gallery, which had pretty c
ool stuff, I swayed a bit on my feet. Just then I heard the patter of steps behind me. Turning around I saw Guido behind me, his tongue lolling out, tail wagging. His eyes sparkled with mischief, or something else. Hunger? Menace? Trouble?

  Oh, dear God.

  “Stay.” I pointed a shaky finger at him with as much authority as I could manage. I had to be the alpha dog or he’d be all over me. “Don’t mess with me, dude. I mean it. Clear?”

  He seemed to grin at me just before he lunged.

  Chapter Eleven

  I leaped forward with the skill of an Olympic jumper and the desperation of a woman not in sync with animals, and barely made it to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me just as Guido crashed into it. The door was antique wood with an old-fashioned crystal doorknob, but thank God and all the stars above, it held against the big dog. Panting, I flicked on the light and slid the small metal latch across the door to lock it. I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding.

  Safe. At least for the moment.

  As soon as I calmed down, I surveyed the bathroom. Small, but cute. It was painted pink with old-fashioned flowery wallpaper and had a small sink with antique brass fixtures. A bowl of floral potpourri sat on one side of the sink and the scent of dried roses and cinnamon wafted through the bathroom. The toilet was the old-fashioned kind with a chain pull instead of a handle to flush. It seemed to fit the house perfectly.

  The steady patter of feet pacing sounded outside the bathroom. Jeez. Guido was waiting for me. I wondered how I’d be able to get back to the kitchen without shouting for help.

  Perhaps because the door was antique and slightly warped, it didn’t close completely. When I stepped away from it, I saw an eye pressed up against the small crack.

  “Hey, bud, this is private,” I said, bending close to the eye. “Beat it.”

  I heard Guido panting, but the eye stayed where it was.

  Jeez. A peeper dog.

  Sighing, I unfastened my jeans with a heartfelt sigh and started to sit on the toilet. I hadn’t even had a chance to completely sit down before something tiny and furry shot out from a hole beneath the sink and ran right across my foot.

  A mouse!

  I screamed in surprise and fell backward, hitting the seat with my bare butt and the back of my thighs. I hit it so hard, I bounced off. My head banged against the wall as I fell sideways into the small space between the wall and the toilet. My jeans and underwear were tangled around my knees, my hands jammed between me and the wall.

  Hearing me scream, Guido barked once and then leaped onto the door with the force of a tank. He brought the whole thing down in one ginormous boom. One more leap and he was on top of me, one paw stuck in the toilet, the other on me. He licked and slobbered on my face. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t breathe.

  At that moment, the mouse made another appearance, running across Guido’s paw. The dog took one look at the mouse and yelped in terror. He scrambled off me, took two leaps and jumped straight into the sink with the force of a sledgehammer. He was ten times too big for it, so naturally it pulled from the wall and went crashing to the floor. Water sprayed out from a broken pipe, soaking both of us. Guido spun around in fear, his claws scrambling for purchase on the wet tile, hitting me in the face several times with a wet tail before finally dashing out of the bathroom. Still wedged between the toilet and the wall, I managed to hoist my jeans up to my hips just as Slash dashed into the bathroom with Marco and Marcella right behind him.

  “Cara, are you okay?” Slash asked, eyes wide. He ran over to the sink, pressing a hand against the pipe, containing the water for the moment. “What happened?”

  I was still stuck at an awkward angle. Marco took one step into the bathroom and extended a big hand, pulling me to my feet. I pressed one hand to my chest, trying to get my breath back. The other hand held up my jeans, which were still unfastened. I was soaked, smelled like wet dog and my blouse was torn on the sleeve. I looked like I’d been in a fight with a big dog and lost.

  Badly.

  “Mouse,” was all I could get out.

  Slash glanced between me and the sink. Of course, Guido was nowhere in sight, leaving me to deal with this on my own.

  Figures.

  “So, you smashed the door and sink trying to get the mouse?” Slash asked, clearly trying to figure out the chain of events.

  “What?” I shook my head vigorously, my hair dripping. “No! It was Guido. He heard me scream when I saw the mouse. He broke down the door and then jumped on me. But as soon as he saw the mouse, he freaked out, then jumped into the sink to get away from it. He was too heavy for the sink and he brought it crashing down, nearly killing me, the mouse and the house in the process of trying to get out of the bathroom.”

  Holy cow. I sounded like a character from a Dr. Seuss book.

  For a second it was dead silent. Then Slash snorted.

  Snorted!

  I glared at him. He swallowed hard, pressing his lips together and avoiding eye contact.

  Marco, however, coughed and hid his mouth behind his hand. I counted silently to five, but he’d already started a full-on laugh by the time I got to three. His laugh was as big as he was. He bent over completely and leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, howling.

  That completely undid Slash. He started laughing as well. Their laughter, inside and out, shook the entire bathroom. At some point, Slash had to brace himself against the wall to keep from collapsing from laughter, which couldn’t have been easy seeing as how he still had one hand containing the water.

  Only Marcella came to my defense, admonishing the men and taking me by the hand. She led me out of the bathroom, dripping wet, leaving the men to laugh themselves into a coma before presumably figuring out how to fix the sink.

  I was not amused.

  Marcella took me upstairs and gave me a towel. I declined her offer to dry my clothes and wiped off the best I could before I returned downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. Marcella informed me Marco had apparently turned off the water to the bathroom, so all was fine. They apologized for Guido, who was wisely absent, but Marco still looked like he was trying not to laugh. His wet shoes squeaked on the wood floor when he walked.

  Slash took one look at my face and lifted Marcella’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss on the top of it. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to make another appointment to come back to shop. I hope it won’t be an inconvenience.”

  “Of course not.” She patted his slightly bearded jaw. “You and Lexi are welcome here anytime, bambino. It was wonderful to see you again.”

  Then she approached me and kissed both of my cheeks. “Take care of our boy, okay? He’s a good one.”

  I blushed. “Ah, sure. Thank you for dinner. I can honestly say it was one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m, ah, sorry about the bathroom.”

  “Don’t you give it another thought,” Marco said. “Guido is the guilty party.” I thought he might start laughing again, but somehow he held it together.

  Marcella beamed and Marco squeezed me in a big bear hug. Finally, thank God, we departed the house without another sign of Guido.

  I climbed into the SUV. “I’m sorry we didn’t get any furniture, Slash.”

  “No worries. It will give us an excuse to come back. I shouldn’t have waited so long to get in touch with them. I was busy, not that it’s a viable excuse.”

  Any excuse to avoid social settings was viable in my book. But I wanted to be polite, so I didn’t say anything along those lines. Still, I didn’t want him to think it had been a total loss of an evening.

  “They were really nice and the food was amazing. I liked hearing stories about you when were young. But seriously, Slash. How can Italians eat like that and still be so amazingly good looking on the national average
?”

  He chuckled. “We work it off in other areas of our lives.” He slid a hand to my knee and grinned meaningfully at me.

  “Ha!” I grinned at him. “I bet.”

  We drove for a while before I noticed his hand on my knee was vibrating. I looked at his face. He was trying not to laugh. Again.

  I crossed my arms against my chest. “Are you still thinking about the bathroom?”

  “I’m not sure there’s a safe answer to that question.” He leaned over and plucked a big black dog hair from behind my ear.

  I scowled at him. “Fine. Go ahead. Be amused. This is exactly why I hate shopping. It’s a conspiracy. Shopping and the universe are aligned against me. This time it threw a dog in the mix. Totally unfair.”

  As if he’d been waiting for my permission, he burst out laughing. Finally, he swiped at his eyes with his hand. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop thinking about it. Cara, your face when I came through that bathroom door...it was priceless.”

  “You’re lucky I had time to pull my jeans up. That would have been a whole different level of ‘Hi, I’m getting to know old family friends.’ Why do animals hate me so much?”

  “You’re wrong. They like you. Guido likes you. Dogs can sense a good heart. It didn’t surprise me at all that he went straight for you when we entered the house. It could have been the beer smell, but I suspect he just liked you. In the bathroom, well, he was just trying to protect you.”

  “Really? So, that’s why he destroyed an entire bathroom, nearly suffocating me in the process?”

  “He’s just a big baby.” He began laughing again. “Mio Dio, I can’t stop,” he said holding up a hand. “Please, let’s table all discussion of dogs, mice and suffocation until we get home. I’m going to drive us off the road.”

  “Forget it. The subject is closed anyway.”

  He laughed again and then drew in a deep breath. “Understood. But it’s going to live in my memory always.”

  “I’m okay with that. As long as it lives there, and nowhere else.”